


Mud-Colored and Off-White

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Kallian meets his sister and the Second Consort for the very first time.
Relationships: Melia Antiqua & Kallian Antiqua
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	Mud-Colored and Off-White

**Author's Note:**

> gratuitous headcanon about melia's mother (who i kept unnamed because i'm bad at names) and high entia child development
> 
> i imagine they spend the first couple years in infancy, learn to speak fully by 3, first 30-40 years are early childhood, then adolescence up through 60-70

Mother had warned him about the Homs many, many times. They are dirty, filthy things. So dirty, in fact, that the mud they wallow in has discolored their hair and eyes. They are pitiable creatures, she said, weak and feeble and unable to fly, bound to the dirt which their dull eyes reflect. Why, their shortened lifespans should be proof enough of how lowly they are!

Kallian keeps this all in mind while staring at the small girl sitting on the Second Consort’s lap.

“Her name is Melia,” she says with a smile. “Melia Antiqua. Would you like to say hello?”

The woman’s hair and eyes are indeed the color of dirt. But they are not dirty. She does not even smell like mud— rather, she smells faintly of soap and the fragrance of flowers, perhaps the ones that grow all around the villa.

Kallian takes a deep breath that fills up his chest and stiffly nods. The girl presses herself close to her mother, warily eyeing Kallian. She makes a small sound and clings tight, as if she could burrow her way into the cloth and hide there.

“Hello… Melia.”

“Careful, Your Highness! Such an intense expression will frighten the young lady,” Garan laughs. The other guards kneel at the Second Consort’s sides, trying to coax the girl out. Kallian sees a flash of a smile on her face, and then she carefully detaches herself from her mother to climb up onto one of the guards’ shoulders. Aizel, Kallian thinks. He isn’t entirely familiar with them.

“Do hold on tight, Lady Melia,” Aizel says, patting her knees. Melia giggles and wraps tiny fingers around the bases of his wings, voice escalating into joyful laughter as Aizel takes off to jog around the villa with long, weightless strides. Damil and Hogard chase after them, and Kallian gets a feeling that this must be a game they have played many times before.

The Homs are wretched and cruel, Mother had said. They are stupid, that is why they live only in the lower regions of the Bionis.

The Second Consort folds her hands on her lap and smiles at Kallian with those mud-brown eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness,” she says, bowing her head so deeply that her forehead nearly touches her knees. “Forgive me for remaining seated in your presence, but…”

“That is not a problem,” Kallian quickly says. “I am not… fond of the formalities. And— yes. Of course. I’ve been curious about you.”

Her smile wavers. “We don’t receive visitors to the villa very often. Or at all.”

Mother warned him to stay away. _Ordered_ him to stay away. Because the Homs’ stupidity may rub off onto him and then he’d be ruined, surely, and then she would never forgive the Second Consort nor her fledgling daughter.

A young boy cannot help but be curious about meeting such monsters.

But if anything, Kallian must say he’s quite disappointed that this woman isn’t made from clay nor does she hiss like a Kromar. Her skin is fair and smooth, and her voice pleasant to listen to.

“How old is she?” Kallian asks, looking around to see where Aizel had run off with Melia. They’re wading in the water now; the guards are wading, more accurately, while they hold onto Melia to make sure her chin doesn’t ever dip beneath the surface. It’s almost a comical sight, watching three grown men fuss over such a small child.

The Second Consort raises a hand, fingers splayed. “She’s coming up to five years. My, but I hadn’t realized High Entia would age so slowly. Her infancy was quite the experience. If it weren’t for the four guards His Majesty had appointed, I think I may have aged another fifty years.

Fifty years? But that is not even the entirety of a High Entia’s youth.

“May I ask how old you are, Your Highness?”

“Kallian. Just. Please, call me Kallian,” he says. “And I’m sixty eight.”

“Sixty eight!” the Second Consort repeats, suddenly sounding very, very tired. “Homs would be lucky to ever reach that age.”

They don’t live long because they poison themselves with their own stupidity, Mother said. Kallian quickly shakes his head. He wants to ask why they die off so quickly, but that would be rude. Father would scold him for being rude to the Second Consort, who is under the protection of the Imperial family despite being a Homs. Besides, she _is_ the mother of the Imperial princess, half-blood or no. The princess, who is his sister, in all technicalities.

Kallian had never imagined he would want a sibling. He still isn’t sure if he does.

“—But is it true?” Kallian blurts out, biting his tongue too late. “Do Homs really feed off of soil and bugs? Will Melia also have to eat dirt in order to live?”

“Your Highness…!” Garan blanches.

The Second Consort blinks. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

“Just… rumors.” Mother may not be happy if Kallian talks about her to the Second Consort.

“I can assure you that Lady Melia will _not_ be eating dirt,” Garan says. “The Second Consort does no such thing, either!”

Kallian suddenly feels very, very embarrassed. If he hadn’t already been taught how to deal with embarrassment and hide his shame, he might have allowed his face to turn red and then flown straight away out of the villa without even taking the transporters. But that would be extremely unbecoming of a prince, and so he merely bows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“No, no, that’s alright…” the Second Consort says. “Am I the first Homs you’ve met, Kallian?”

He nods.

“Well, if you’re curious, I’m more than happy to share my stories with you. Would you like to know about where I come from?”

He nods again.

* * *

Dusk brings a cool breeze over the Imperial Villa, washing everything in a golden light. The four guards sit with Melia among the flowers, playing a new game with clapping and singing and flower petals being tossed over their heads.

Full of revelations and a new emboldened confidence, Kallian joins them.

Melia’s wings are small, so small that they will probably never be able to grant her the gift of flight. Her feathers are an off-white as well, not mud-colored but not as bright as his own wings. She’s unmistakably a High Entia child, but she is also _not._

Is this what Mother had meant when she angrily ranted about the Second Consort? Surely not.

“Hello,” Kallian says, crouching down between Aizel and Damil. “I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier. I am Kallian… your brother.”

Melia had gone completely still. She stares at him, wide-eyed, like an animal that had been cornered.

“Lady Melia,” Hogard softly says, tapping her shoulder. “It would be the polite thing to respond.”

“… Well met, Kallian.”

Kallian can’t help himself— he grins widely, nearly laughing out loud but catching himself just in time. Such prim words coming from a tiny girl! His grin seems to settle Melia’s nerves; she relaxes, resuming her previous task of pulling out small weeds that had grown between the flowers. Ah, they were tossing weeds at each other, not flowers.

“May I play with you, Melia?” Kallian asks, crawling up beside her. “I’ll follow your rules, promise.”

“Are you really my brother?” she asks in a tone so demanding he’s taken aback.

“Y—Yes, I am. I am not the Second Consort’s son, but we share the same father.”

Melia seems to consider this for a moment, deep in thought as she absentmindedly tears weeds apart in her hands. The four guards glance at each other, shuffling back some to allow the two children more space for themselves.

“We don’t look alike,” Melia finally says.

“… I suppose we don’t.”

“Your wings are big.”

“Why, thank you for noticing.”

“When will mine become as big as yours?”

The Homs aren’t stupid or cruel. Or, at least, the Second Consort is an exception. They aren’t born from the mud either, and their hair and eyes come in all sorts of colors. Brown like the earth, but also yellow like wheat, and black like a moonless night, and even red like dying embers. Some of them even have blue eyes just like the High Entia, she said. And when they grow old, their hair turns silver and gray and white.

Kallian feels… enlightened, and excited about these revelations. He’d much rather sit with the Second Consort all day and listen to her stories than attend to his lectures and tutoring, he decides.

But Mother would be furious.

Mother lied, though. Melia is not an abomination of nature, and her eyes shine with intelligent curiosity.

It is a great injustice, that her wings will never grow to be as large as any other High Entia’s. But… there must be a reason for all this. The Emperor is a wise man and Kallian respects him more than anyone else. Why would Mother resent the Homs so much, while Father takes one as a second consort and brings forth a halfling daughter into this world? Surely… there must be a justification…

“If you are my brother, you will answer me.”

Damil shuffles over on his knees, gesturing placatingly to Melia. Kallian motions to him with a single wave that says, _it’s alright_ , and Damil reluctantly pulls back.

“Your wings won’t become as big as mine,” Kallian says. “Because your mother is not a High Entia like me or Father.”

She simply says, “Oh,” and yanks out another handful of weeds from the ground.

“But that changes nothing!” he cries out, reaching for one of Melia’s hands. She pulls herself away. “Because we are siblings. It is my duty to protect you, as your older brother.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!”

One of the guards sniffles and wipes at the corner of his eye. “Such strong affirmation, Your Highness…”

Melia stares at him with such a sharp gaze that Kallian begins to feel his nerves becoming frayed, bit by bit. All his tutelage and lessons taught him diplomacy and decorum and so many other things he must know as a prince, but none of them prepared him for this. For a small girl drilling holes into him with her stare alone. Is that her Homs half that gives her such a frightful stare? Or her High Entia half? Or both?

Searching for a last resort, he plucks a loose handful of weeds and scatters them over Melia’s head just as he’d seen the guards do it during their play. Melia huffs through her nose and shakes the pieces off.

The guards are all holding their breath.

Then Melia throws her own handful at Kallian’s face.

Laughing loudly in relief, he claps his hands together and allows Melia to throw more weeds upon his hair.

* * *

Garan and Hogard leave to fetch dinner from the kitchens, and Kallian learns that no one, not even other servants and guards of the Palace, are allowed into the Imperial Villa without sanction from the Emperor himself. That must mean the Second Consort and Melia are truly worth protecting.

It must also mean they are exceptionally fragile, if the Second Consort tells the truth about never stepping foot beyond the bridge.

Melia has become tired from their games. Once again, she sits curled up upon the Second Consort’s lap, beginning to doze off with heavy blinks. Aizel and Damil stand vigilant even though Kallian can’t possibly imagine anyone ever getting into the villa like this. He’d nearly forgotten that the four guards are meant to protect them, not merely act as playmates and nannies for Melia.

“I’m glad you were able to finally meet each other,” the Second Consort says, stroking Melia’s tiny wings. “I was beginning to worry she would never have the opportunity to play with another High Entia child.”

“One day, when she is older, I will bring her around Alcamoth to meet our people,” Kallian promises. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. You’ll come along as well.”

The Second Consort sadly shakes her head. “I don’t think I will, Kallian.”

“Why not?”

“You said you’re sixty eight years old now, right? By the time Melia is that age, I’ll be…”

A numbing coldness washes down Kallian’s back. Homs aren’t dirty or feral or stupid, but they _are_ short-lived. Mother hadn’t been lying about that part.

“That’s why I’m glad she met you today,” she continues. “It isn’t within my rights to ask you, but… would you help watch over her, as her brother?”

“Y- yes, of course I will!”

Someday, he’ll ask Father why Melia was meant to be born with the blood of a Homs running through her veins. Then he’ll find out where all of Mother’s rage and resentment comes from. By then, perhaps, he would be able to bring the Second Consort and his sister out of this birdcage to see Alcamoth and the rest of Eryth Sea.

The Second Consort is a beautiful woman. She has lines running beneath her mud-colored eyes and around her mouth, but her hands are gentle and the fragrance of soap and flowers fills the air around her. She had spoken of her old home, down in those wild unknowns far below the Bionis’ waist, where Homs find a way to survive no matter the odds and no matter the difficulties, humble in the dirt that Kallian thought had stained them. They’re a tenacious people.

And yet she’s so, so weak.

Being kept this high up above the Bionis is no place for a Homs to be. The Second Consort had said something about _altitude_ and _ether levels_ somewhere in the midst of her stories, but there’s nothing anyone can do while she is the second consort. She wouldn’t want to leave, anyway, not while Melia has nowhere else to be. Melia’s wings will never grow to be flightworthy. It’s unfair. The Second Consort will die within decades. That is also unfair.

He can’t do anything about it. As the prince of the High Entia, he understands that some destinies cannot be altered.

Then maybe Melia would find her own way, as she exists between the border of High Entia and Homs.

“Melia looks like you,” Kallian says. “She has your ears, as well as the shape of your face.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” the Second Consort murmurs, holding her daughter close.


End file.
